Perception
by Jubileyn
Summary: ONESHOT. Sensible is in the eye of the beholder... RHr


Disclaimer: No Harry Potter for me.

A/N: Okay, I know I said I'd try to update Prefects soon, and all that. But then I hit the busiest two weeks of probably the entire school year. I had two chem. tests to study for and All County Chorus practices. So, my apologies, faithful readers. You will be rewarded when I come back to power... ahem, I mean, when I update. So hold on! Ici est le conte. Er, here is the story.

Oh, and I set up an account on DeviantArt. So feel free to check out my art. It'll be coming faster once my scanner works again. I'm weasleybabe24 on there too. Ta, lovelies.

**Perception**

"You can't make me stay."

His ears started to ring and he breathed an unsteady breath. He was doing his damndest not to get angry with her. He looked at her in frustration, but she just stared back, apparently having no intention of giving in.

Blimey, the woman was so ridiculously stubborn, he was torn between groaning in annoyance, shaking some sense into her, and (to his incredulity and in all honestly, downright pleasure.) kissing her. He almost smiled at that. Almost.

She knew so many things. He needed the fingers of the entire student body of Hogwarts to count the number of times she had been right in one of their arguments. And for Merlin's sake, she probably remembered every single one. She was like a sponge with messy brown hair, absorbing everything she read and then all of it oozing out of her during lessons.

She analyzed situations, always being flawlessly logical about the way in which she did it. And she understood Arithmancy, which, in his book, qualified her as brilliant. He'd taken a look at a _page_ of her book and had had a migraine for an hour.

Not only did she understand books, she understood people. He remembered the time she had interpreted Cho's feelings for a very cross Harry after his disastrous date at Madam Puddifoot's. And it was undoubtedly true that what she had said _had_ been a bit maddening, but it had, oddly enough, also made sense.

She was studious and boring, arrogant and obstinate, but she was funny, brave, and... well, loveable. (Maybe that was the problem.) And you could certainly say she was pretty. Just not in front of him. Or to her. But you could think it. Maybe.

The thing that bothered him the most was that the _one_ person who was more intelligent than anyone else he knew, couldn't understand _why_ she couldn't come. It was easily answered. Because _she_ couldn't die. It was as simple as that. It wouldn't be fair. She was far more likely to be attacked with him and Harry than at home with her parents.

And yes, he _did_ feel guilty about talking to her parents behind her back about her, but it would keep her safe. He hoped. And even _they_ thought she shouldn't go, no doubt because of his insistent urging, but she would listen to them, wouldn't she?

"You have to."

She narrowed her eyes, her lip twitching, as if deciding whether to cry or shout at him or possibly hit him. Her eyes were crackling and snapping at him like a fire gone out of control and for a moment, he actually feared for his life. Well, not actually. But he did fear for a few certain body parts.

"I won't."

It was said so simply, but every word dripped with disobedience, the kind you expected to hear from a six year old child throwing a temper tantrum. But she was entirely calm about it.

"I'll follow you."

He was about to answer that they'd cover their trail so flawlessly, she'd find nothing and would have no choice but to return home. But then he realized she probably would find them if they went off without her, her being a certifiable genius and all.

"Hermione," he said, doing his best to sound as firm as possible. "You _will_ stay with your parents. They don't want you to come. And neither do I."

Her eyes stopped snapping and for a second he saw the hurt in them. But then he was wondering if he had been imagining it, because now she was expressionless, her face, a mask.

But then he knew he hadn't imagined anything. "You don't want me to come?" she asked in a small voice.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. He knew, he just _knew_ he hadn't said that right. "That's not how I meant it. But yes, it's true. Hermione, it's too dangerous."

"But not too dangerous for you! If this is for the lame excuse that I'm a girl, I swear, I'll--"

He held up his hand. "No, it's not." She settled down. "Listen, Ginny's not coming, either."

"Only because Harry told her not to."

"You think Ginny would listen to Harry?" He snorted. "She's not going because she knows that there's something right in what he's saying. Isn't there?"

She looked sulky and very close to tears. "So? That's Ginny and Harry. I'm talking about you and me. So I'll ask you one more time, why should I stay? If you two are going to risk your lives, why _shouldn't_ I risk mine?"

"Because you--"

"I know," she said waspishly. "I just _can't_. Unfortunately that's not _your_ decision to make. It's _mine_. And I _will_ come. You just see if I don't."

His fists clenched and so did his jaw. "No, you won't. I've already spoken to your parents. They say you're not to come with us. You have to go home tomorrow."

She swayed slightly and then turned on him viciously. In all his life, he had never seen her this angry. Not even with those canaries flying at him. "_You_. How _could_ you? I have _just_ as much right to go as _you_ do! Damn it." She flopped on the ground angrily, now actually having the look of a sulky six year old. Except she was crying. And he felt horrible. Like the worst person in the world. She had to understand it was for her own good. But that wouldn't stop her tears.

Knowing there was nothing more to say, he began to walk off. Until she spoke. It was a plain one-syllable word, one virtually all children would learn by the time they were two. But it was said with such urgency and pleading, he couldn't bear to take one more step away from her.

"_Please_."

She got up hastily and sprinted towards him. He didn't want to look at her, but she pulled on his arm, and then for some reason, he couldn't stand the idea of _not_ looking at her. Her eyes were wet with tears, but her cheeks were still that rosy pink. "What?" he asked quietly.

"Just listen to me."

He pulled his arm out of her grip. "I can't. You'll talk me into letting you come, and you _can't_. You just can't. I can't let you."

"But you have to at least listen to my side! I understand that you don't want me to come. But can't you just listen to why I want to?"

"Why _don't_ you want to stay? You'd be safe with your parents. You can't possibly want to risk your life. That's just stupid and you're not stupid."

"Because," she cried, "I'd rather be with you. and know exactly what's happening to you than find out by owl months later that you've been _killed_. I-I... I can't do that. I can't let myself," she whispered. She sniffed and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt.

Then without warning, she ran to him and buried herself in his chest. His arms instinctively wrapped around her and he hugged her close.

"Please," she said into his shirt. "You _have_ to let me come. I can't stay here without you."

And damn it all, she had convinced him. His heart had convinced him. He felt like an idiot for even suggesting that she should stay. Now he couldn't accept the idea of him being away _without_ her. She looked up at him hopefully.

He gazed at her, feeling much older than he had a few minutes ago and he felt like a fool for even arguing with her. She _always_ won. (He felt very much like the six year old now.) If Ron Weasley ever knew anything, it was definitely that Hermione Granger had most certainly not been expecting him to kiss her right then. But he did.

And she took that as a yes.


End file.
